"How do you think?" Heath said, snorting. "Obviously, when I was eleven, I found some sad little wizarding bloke, knocked him out, drained him with my amazing powers of magic thievery, and left him a squib." He snorted again at the scenario, bitterly, then took another drink.
"And it'll be really sodding noticeable if we don't go in."
Heath looked up from the tirade and the bottle when Merton came in, and then just picked up the Prophet from where it was on the table and tossed it to him. "I stole magic," He said, shrugging.